


Let Me Give You My Life

by magicbubblepipe



Series: Take Me to Church [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dry Humping, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/pseuds/magicbubblepipe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean learn to be together again after Stanford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Give You My Life

            Dean had spent four years being angry at Sam. Well, at least two years. The rest of the time he was just sad and bitter and very alone. There were a few times when he wasn’t alone and once he even thought he might be in love. He talked himself into caring for Cassie until he realized that she’d never hold a candle to Sam and that’s when he’d had to leave out of guilt. He’d nearly resigned himself to being alone forever until his dad went missing.

            He had also convinced himself that he’d be cool and aloof, condemning to the brother that left him. But, when it comes down to it and he pins Sammy to the floor and he’s looking up at him, amazed and confused and so damned close…it’s over. His anger fizzles out and he just grins at his brother, wide and warm and his cheeks hurt because it’s been so long.

            The bitterness comes in waves every now and then but every time he looks at Sam sitting next to him in the Impala, he just can’t make himself be angry. It feels so right to be beside him again that he forgets that it’s temporary, that Sam’s going to walk right back out of his life. He thinks they have a moment when he drops him back off at Stanford, when Sam’s leaning in the window.

            What he means to say is something like “I love you” or “please stay” but he wusses out and says what a good team they make. One last dimpled smile, something soft in his eyes that Dean hasn’t seen in so long and Sam turns to leave.

            Dean makes it halfway down the block when he feels a sudden pit in his gut, a cold sweat feeling of dread that he’s learned to trust. Panicky, he whips the car back around and barrels back towards Sam’s apartment. He bursts down the door just as the flames erupt and charges towards the heat, towards Sam’s screams. He pulls his brother off the bed, dragging him to the door and away from the fire and all the while his ears are roaring and all he can hear is “Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don’t look back. Now, Dean, go!”

            They make it to the yard and Sam is still screaming at the burning building. Dean’s arms are wrapped around him and he’s pulling Sam away, towards the car just before Sam’s bedroom windows explode.

…

            Sam lies awake in their motel room, staring at the wall. There’s a blue neon sign that blinks on and off but he stopped noticing that hours ago. It’s gotta be nearly daylight but it feels like the sun will never rise. Sam is exhausted but whenever he closes his eyes, he sees Jess on the ceiling, flames bursting behind his eyelids, the splatter of her blood against his skin.

            Dean’s staring at Sam’s back, watching the rise and fall of his breathing. He can tell by the rhythm that he’s not asleep. The kid hasn’t actually cried yet. Not a single tear for his dead girlfriend and that just can’t be healthy. The scent of burning flesh brought Dean right back to that night twenty-two years ago, the wound of losing his mother opening up and oozing afresh.

            He feels terrible for Sam. He knows what it’s like to see something like that and how you never really get over it. Underneath all that pain and sorrow though, he feels hopeful. God help him, he’s actually happy to have Sam with him again. It makes him feel like the worst kind of shit but it’s been so long since he’s felt needed and Sam _does_ need him now, whether he’s ready to admit or not.

            He’s not sure if it’s to comfort Sam or himself but he gets up and crosses the small space between their beds. He pulls back the covers and slides in right behind his brother. Sam tenses, doesn’t move a muscle. “Dean?”

            “Shh,” Dean says, stretching out behind Sam, putting an arm around his waist. “Don’t, Sammy.”

            Sam slowly relaxes, lets out a sigh that almost sounds grateful. Dean squeezes him tighter, presses his mouth against the slope of Sam’s neck.

            The weight of Dean’s arm around his middle is grounding, the heat against his back welcoming, like coming home. Something in Sam’s chest is trembling and he thinks Dean can feel it under his hand, maybe in the soft touch of his lips against his nape. Something’s ready to burst inside him and it fills him with panic, wants to run, wants to hide.

            “Let it go, little brother,” Dean whispers, voice just loud enough to reach Sam’s ears and no further.

           It’s then the dam in his chest collapses and everything comes flooding out. Sam doesn’t cry so much as he wails, tears tumbling endlessly onto the scratchy pillowcase. Dean holds him tighter, crushing Sam against him to absorb the shaking that wracks his body. Sam sobs himself hoarse and Dean stays right there, whispering soothing words against his skin.

            They leave the motel the following day around noon. Sam had finally cried himself out and managed to get a few hours of sleep. Dean had barely slept a wink but he’s more than ready to get the hell out of Kansas. Sam slides into the front seat beside him and for a moment, Dean fears that things will be awkward between them. But Sam meets his nervous gaze with red rimmed eyes and smiles, tiny, almost imperceptible but Dean sees it. He knows things are going to be okay.

…

            The following weeks are a rush of cases and the feverish search for their father. Sam has little time for mourning outside of his nightmares which Dean thankfully shakes him out of. Thoughts of revenge are never far from Sam’s mind these days but there are moments when he looks at Dean and he gives him that goofy, carefree smile that he’s gone so long without that he feels weirdly at peace.

Hunting beside his brother gives him a strange thrill that he had never felt with their father around. It feels like this is how it should be, just him and Dean against the world. It makes him feel a guilty twinge in his gut but it’s easily overlooked for all of the lives they save together. The wendigo, the demon on the plane, the bugs, the hook man; powering their way across the country and through the pages of John’s journal.

And then Sam starts having more dreams. Premonitions. They lead them home. For the first time Sam sees the house in Lawrence outside of a photograph. Dean beside him is visibly shaken; his memories of these rooms are ones that Sam never had. He’s suddenly curious to know what he’s never had the courage to ask before. Later, at a fill up station, he asks.

“How much do you actually remember?”

Dean stops short, gets an uncomfortable look on his face. “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat,” he seems to shake his head as if to clear away the memories. “And then I carried you out the front door.”

 _What?_ Sam’s heart skips a beat, something weird happening in his stomach. “You did?”

“Yeah. What, you never knew that?”

Slowly, as if from underwater, Sam says, “No.” Dean carries on talking but Sam’s not paying much attention.

Twice Dean has saved him from the fire, pulled him, carried him from burning buildings and never once has Sam thanked him. He owes Dean his life. Sam’s thoughts are churning and his arms feel empty like he wants to put them around Dean. He can’t do that now. He doesn’t know his place in their relationship like he used to. Dean excuses himself to use the bathroom and Sam lets out a shaky breath.

…

            They have a fight during the scarecrow ordeal in which Sam ditches his brother in favor of going to California. It feels eerily familiar to both of them. Sam regrets it as soon as he starts walking away and he knows Dean does too. When Dean nearly gets himself sacrificed to a pagan god due to Sam’s absence, Sam makes a vow to himself to never let him hunt alone again. Somehow, he gets the notion that Dean will be safe so long as Sam has his back. And that’s when everything goes to shit.

            Dean gets electrocuted. It’s his heart; it’s failing. Dean will die. And Sam had been right there the whole time, had been the one to pull his brother off the floor and into his arms, to call the ambulance, to hear the diagnosis. So much for protecting him. Something in Sam’s soul that had been hanging by a thread seems to snap and he _refuses_ to let this happen. The doctors tell him and Dean tells him that there’s no use but he can’t listen to reason. Dean can’t die. Not after all of this. He can’t.

            Seeing Dean on that hospital bed just looks so damn wrong and he’s filled with a despair, a desperate panic that he’s never felt before. Not even after Jess. He’s not sure what that says about him but he’s too busy digging through websites and files and phonebooks to care. And then he finds the faith healer.

            Getting Dean to see Roy is like pulling teeth. It hurts to know that he could just scoop up his brother and carry him if he had to, Dean weak as a kitten and too sick to fight back. He grumbles about all the mud on his baby and the fact that they have to slog through it to get to the tent but when they finally get there, he actually manages to _flirt_. A bittersweet swell of fondness threatens to choke Sam. Even dying Dean’s got one hell of an ego.

            When Roy chooses Dean, it seems too good to be true. For once in their lives something is actually going right. Sam waits, feverish, pulse pounding as the man puts a hand to Dean’s head. He fidgets, right on the edge of his seat as Dean’s eyes roll shut, head tipped back as if the energy is being leeched right out of him. The instant Dean’s knees hit the ground, Sam is up out of his seat, running towards his collapsed brother.

            _God, something’s gone wrong. He’ll kill that old son of a bitch, blind or not._ But Dean’s eyes flicker open, focus hazily on something beyond Sam’s head and Sam is so fucking relieved he can barely contain himself. He pulls him up off the floor, eyes bleary with tears when Dean makes no sounds of pain, his color slowly starting to return.

            So they go to the doctor, just to be sure. Dean’s heart is completely fine, no sign of trauma at all. Sam’s nearly bursting at the seams but Dean is wary. He says that it doesn’t feel right but Dean is here and alive and that’s all that matters. Even when they find out the truth, that an innocent man lost his life to save Dean, Sam doesn’t regret it. It’s a shame it had to happen but he’d do it again and a thousand times over for his brother. And that scares the shit out of him.

            After that bitch Sue Ann bites the bullet, they check out of the motel and hit the road. Dean is quiet beside him, probably thinking about Layla or the young man that died for him. Sam’s looking over at Dean and he can’t feel anything but grateful. Dean catches him staring and gives him a curious look. Sam just smiles softly and doesn’t look away.

            “What, dude?” Dean asks after a pregnant pause. “You gonna start waxing poetic over there?”

            Sam huffs a quiet laugh, shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I’m just looking at you.”

            Dean glances back and forth from Sam to the road for a few moments and Sam can see the flush creeping down his brother’s neck. He wants to follow it with his tongue. Guiltily, he jerks his eyes away and the moment is broken. Dean’s shoulders lower in either relief or disappointment and he cranks the stereo up.

...

            Sam spends most of the night watching Dean sleep. The deep, unlabored breaths that move his chest, silhouetted in the moonlight. Eventually he gets up and eases gently into Dean’s bed. Dean wakes; shifts over to give him room but says nothing. Sam presses his chest against Dean’s sleep warm back and sighs. He’ll do anything to keep this.

…

            Dean thought he knew terror. He had become familiar with its ways since he was four years old but nothing could have prepared him for the cold, sick panic of Sam being taken from him. Dark of night, bar lights glinting off the wet pavement and people milling around in slow motion as Dean turns circles, desperate to find his brother. Not by the car, not inside, not anywhere. No one has seen Sammy. He wouldn’t have left so suddenly, not again. Not after what happened with Flagstaff. He was taken.

            Sam wakes up in a cage. His pulse spikes, adrenaline rushing like a swift punch to the back as his eyes struggle to adjust to the dim light. It reeks in here, musty and stale with old blood and other bodily fluids. None his, thank God. He’s sore but doesn’t seem to be too badly injured. He searches for his phone but it’s been taken. At least he was nabbed by a creature of some intelligence then. Without further ado, he sets in on violently kicking the bars of his cage.

           

…

As a police deputy, Kathleen feels that she’s become pretty good at reading people. She had had a weird feeling about “Officer” Washington from the jump but she recognized the pain and anxiety in his eyes. He may not be a real cop but the boy, Sam Winchester, he had to be real. She still feels the sharp pain of loss when she thinks of her brother and if she can help save this poor young guy the same pain…well, she has to try.

            When she gets nabbed by those rednecks and tossed in a filthy cage, Sam is there. He’s alive and when she tells him his cousin has come to save him, he’s so relieved, as if he believes whole heartedly that he’s safe now. And when said cousin appears a moment later and charges to Sam’s cage, a huge grateful smile spreads across the younger boy’s face.

            They stare at each other. “Are you hurt?”

            “No.”

            “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

            It clicks then. She sees through that cousin charade in a hot minute. The way they look at each other, like there’s no one else in the world. Kathleen’s pretty sure she’s never looked at anyone like that. Well, maybe her high school sweetheart.

            Many things happen that night. She learns what she’s always suspected, that her brother is long dead. She’s also killed a man in cold blood. She’s never done that before. She doesn’t regret it but it’s shaken her up, will take time to process. But those boys…they fall into this sort of thing like they were born to do it. The ease of the way they move together, anticipating each other’s movements like a sixth sense, is like nothing she’s ever seen.      

            She hears Sam call his boyfriend “Dean” more than once and she has a sneaking suspicion that Sam’s ‘brother’ didn’t die back in Saint Louis. Either that or it’s a coincidence of epic proportions. She decides not to dwell on it because if Dean is actually Dean, he just became a lot more of a criminal than she thought. Still, these boys saved her life so she tells them to run before the police and the feds come.

            They walk away, bumping shoulders, sharing private jokes. Sam’s laughter echoes back to her where she’s watching them leave. Letting out a sigh, she shakes her head and resigns herself to reevaluating her life choices as she waits for her backup to arrive.

…

            Sam smiles to himself as Dean rearranges their position so that Sam is on the grass side and Dean is between him and the road. It’s a habit that’s carried over since childhood and he doubts his brother even realizes he does it. They’ve transitioned smoothly into a thoughtful silence until Dean points up at the sky.

            “Hey Sammy…”

            “Yeah?”

            “You ‘member what I told you about the stars when we were kids?”

            Sam follows the line of Dean’s finger up to the constellations glowing bright in the country sky. “The big dipper and the little dipper?” he asks, grinning at the memory. Dean nods, dropping his arm. “Yeah,” Sam continues, “You told me that one was the big brother and one was the little brother. You said they stay close so the big one can keep the little one safe.”

            Dean smiles a little sheepishly and looks at his feet. “I was always making up dumb crap like that, huh?”

            “It’s not dumb. It’s creative,” Sam responds and Dean scoffs. “I’m serious. You know how mad I got when my science teacher at school tried to teach me different? She kept trying to tell me the Greek stories and I just kept swearing up and down that my big brother would never lie to me.”

            Dean laughs but his expression looks tight around the edges. “You always were a gullible kid.”

            “I’m pretty sure everyone’s pretty gullible when they’re like six years old.” Sam shoves him with his shoulder and Dean pushes right back.

            They’re interrupted by the sudden piercing of headlights through the darkness. Dean’s hands are on him, pushing him off into the ditch. Sam loses his footing in a clump of undergrowth and falls backwards, his searching fingers snatching up Dean’s shirt on the way down. They roll the short way into the overgrown drainage ditch and come to a stop just as the car whizzes by.

            Three more cars follow it, all state police. Dean lets out a breath of relief and Sam laughs, flopping back into the dirt and grass where Dean is half sprawled on top of him. When he turns his head, he finds Dean staring at him, hair mussed up and cheek smudged with dirt. Sam’s breath hitches, his pulse starting to race. He follows the wet flicker of Dean’s tongue with his eyes and then Dean’s leaning in to kiss him.

            Sam opens his mouth at the first touch of Dean’s lips, a hurt little noise escaping his throat. He gets a hand free and grips the back of his brother’s neck, crushing him tighter, letting Dean’s tongue invade his mouth. Dean makes a growling, desperate sound and gets his fingers in Sam’s tangled, sweaty hair. He probably smells like death from being in that cage but Dean doesn’t seem to care, only pressing closer and closer until Sam can feel the hot, hard line of his dick up against his own.

            Dean kisses him deep, like his life depends on it and Sam is lightheaded with the thrill and pleasure of it. He hasn’t felt this good in so long and he can’t help the needy rolls of his hips, the feral sounds slipping free between their mouths. Dean breaks the kiss to mouth along the sharp line of Sam’s jaw, sharp edge of teeth making Sam’s cock jerk and leak in his pants.

            “God, Sam. Sammy, fuck. Thought I fucking lost you,” Dean’s whispering hot against his skin, hips thrusting hard and rough against Sam’s. Sam just whimpers and lets his legs fall open like a two-bit whore.

            “Dean…” he moans when teeth pierce the skin of his neck, when plush lips seal and suck. He tugs Dean’s hair, digs fingertips bruise-hard into his back and just ruts against him like a wild animal.

            Sam comes first, arching up as far as he can under the weight of his brother, his strangled yell reverberating through the woods. Dean grinds against his pulsing cock, breathing “fuck, fuck, fuck,” until he follows Sam right over the edge. He collapses on top of Sam, shivering through the aftershocks.

            Dean finally peels their lower bodies apart, grimacing as the cool night air rushes over their soaked jeans. Sam’s abundantly aware of how colossally stupid this is but he can’t get the smile off his face. Dean looks down at him, expression soft and worried. He brushes his thumb over the mark he left on Sam’s neck, right in plain sight and Sam can see the beginnings of a smirk around the corner of Dean’s mouth. His eyes are still concerned.

            “Sammy…” he starts, looking like he’s about to _apologize_.

            Sam turns his face into Dean’s hand and kisses his palm. “Shut the fuck up, Dean,” he says it with the tone of ‘I love you’ and from the look in Dean’s eyes, he can tell.

            Dean leans down and pecks Sam on the cheek like he’s annoyed that he can’t help himself. Sam smiles, amazed that he actually feels hopeful. Dean stands and holds out his hand to pull Sam up out of the dirt. And if Sam tries to hold onto Dean’s hand for a little bit longer than necessary, then that’s his business.


End file.
